


on a roll lost control

by zappactionsdower



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Assassin Felix, M/M, domesticity is difficult, kind of although i've never seen that movie, mr. and ms. smith au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappactionsdower/pseuds/zappactionsdower
Summary: Whatever.  Dimitri has no business making that face and Felix has no business noticing it.  It’s not like they’re a real couple with a real future.  One of these days, Felix is going to screw up and miss or hesitate and he’ll die a bloody death in some alleyway.  This - this is playing house.  Sooner or later someone else will catch Dimitri's attention and maybe share their bed and -(It's hard to be an assassin and move in with your not-boyfriend.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Manuela Casagranda/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41
Collections: 2020 Dimilix Exchange





	on a roll lost control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [offlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/offlight/gifts).



Felix is crouched quietly in the back of a dressing room when his phone buzzes. He sighs, tugging the damn device out of his pocket to glower at the screen.

“Not a good time.” Felix grumbles as he awkwardly balances the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Sorry.” Dimitri apologizes and Felix should be more annoyed than he is. “Did you say Rodrigue likes tuna or catfish?”

“Please tell me you aren't grocery shopping.” Felix tugs on a pair of soft leather gloves. “Especially not for my old man.” And yet, in the background, Felix can hear the creak of wheels and a voice announcing specials on pork rinds.

“We do have to eat, Felix.” Felix pulls out a small black shaving bag hidden inside a decorative trunk. “Or so you tell me.”

“Because you  _ forget _ .” He unzips the bag and then works the edges of the fabric. “Next you'll be telling me you want to cook. By yourself.” The fabric tears easily enough to reveal a small weapon. Exactly as described, exactly as instructed.

“Oh no. Rodrigue would fear I'm trying to kill you.” Dimitri chuckles gently. “I will ask Ashe for assistance.”

Ashe is safe. Felix likes Ashe. “Good.” Felix grips the silencer and attaches it to his weapon. It's not like he has to worry about noise levels – not at this corner of the city at least. “One of these days you’re going to hurt yourself on my knife set.”

“Still,” Felix slips the weapon beneath his jacket and stands, “Rodrigue is a family friend. I do not wish him to think – to think ill of me.”

Felix looks in the mirror and adjusts his hair in a tight bun. “He likes you better than me anyway, you know.” He has ten minutes now. More than enough time. “He likes salmon and mixed vegetables. Except carrots”

“Thank you.” He can almost hear Dmitri's exhale. “Stay safe, Felix.”

Felix is  _ always  _ safe. “I can handle a little bit of traffic.” He slips the phone down and hangs up and, after a moment's hesitation, turns the entire thing off.

His target this time is named Marcus Chevalle. By day he’s a well-respected man of the cloth that travels the world helping the impoverished and blessing statues. By night he sells secrets. Secrets that rich and influential figures pay millions to keep hidden or worse, the kind of secrets that lead to people getting killed when given to the wrong people.

And the wrong people have a lot of money.

The theater isn’t exactly where one would expect to find a holy man. It’s known for avant-garde productions and rather bawdy musicals about sex and cowboys. It’s also old, with no cameras and still has electrical wiring hanging out from the old, weathered rafters. 

And yet there Marcus stands, waiting in the backstage prop area in a threadbare baseball cap and an oversized sweater. A strange woman with bright red hair hands him a small black handbag.

Marcus opens it up to look inside.

Just once, Felix thinks, he wishes someone wouldn’t look.

Satisfied, Marcus pulls out a small USB drive. The redhead tucks it neatly into her shirt. They talk - a conversation Felix has heard many times before. Whatever’s on the drive is useless without a password, and it’s a password Marcus will only provide when he makes it safely out of the building. At least he’s not stupid enough to leave himself open to his buyers.

She thanks him and turns to leave.

It would be so easy to take him out and catch her unaware - follow her back to catch bigger fish. But Felix is a professional, and professionals don’t make extraneous messes. It’s not like someone else in his little organization isn’t going to put a giant target on whoever the redhead is working for.

He waits for the noise of her heels to disappear. Marcus is already heading his way, head bowed and handbag clutched tightly to his chest. 

Felix waits for him to touch the doorknob before he pulls his small pistol out and fires.

Marcus drops like a doll. Felix drags him over to a stack of trunks and stuffs him inside the largest one. Someone will find him - eventually - but by that point, Felix will be long gone and any record of him being there will be erased.

Felix doesn’t ask how Byleth covers their tracks. He doesn’t care to know.

Marcus can keep the handbag for all Felix cares. It’s not going to do him any good now.

* * *

Dimitri is curled up on the sofa with a cheap, too-short blanket slung over him. There’s some old black and white movie onscreen that Felix knows he isn’t watching.

“Good trip?” Dimitri asks, tilting his head just so.

Felix grunts and drags his bag inside before unceremoniously kicking his shoes off. The flight was a pain; the drive back was held up by some half-blind driver with their turn signal out.

Dimitri hums and turns his attention back to the screen - or at least pretends to. There’s no point in talking to Felix until after he gets his shower and changes into his pajamas because Felix is terrible at communication as it is.

Fifteen minutes later he’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt and some knit pants with cartoon kittens that Annette gave him as a gift. His hair is still damp and in disarray and Felix can’t bring himself to care just yet. Instead he flops down on the sofa against Dimitri and doesn’t complain too loudly as the blonde pulls him close and tucks him beneath the blanket.

It’s not necessary. Any of it. Dimitri’s warm enough that Felix’s muscles are already starting to relax and the irritation from earlier starts to recede into tiredness.

“I never knew editing was so strenuous.” Dimitri nuzzles at his wet locks and Felix huffs. His eyelids are already heavy and Dimitri’s started rubbing little circles against his spine.

“It’s murder.”

* * *

This is how it starts.

Well, that isn’t actually true. Felix doesn’t remember when it starts. The Fraldarius and Blaiddyds had a  _ history _ ; both well-known families in the upper echelon of Faerghus society long, long before either Felix or Dimitri were born. 

In practical terms, this means Felix can’t remember when he first met Dimitri Alexndre Blaiddyd. Dimitri was always just  _ there _ , shy and a little awkward and clumsy and just as much a part of Felix’s existence as his own family. He was there when Felix first stepped into their private school; he was there at Glenn’s sixteenth birthday party; he was there hiding his head beneath the blankets whenever they stayed up too late to watch midnight horror movies. He was there when puberty started and they both struggled with growing pains and gangly limbs and acne and the mess of hormones and an even more confusing thing called  _ desire _ .

And then Duscur happened, and at 14 years old, Dimitri disappeared entirely. No letters, no phone calls, nothing but an empty void. His old man had mentioned  _ security  _ concerns and Glenn had brought up all sorts of conspiracy theories and political intrigue that all seemed utterly ridiculous. The safest place for Dimitri to be was with them, not - not wherever he ended up.

But life went on. Felix graduated high school. Felix went to college. Felix met a woman named Byleth who taught him how to kill and gave him a very nice paycheck to help clean up the filth that governments wouldn’t touch.

It was fine.

It was a living.

* * *

The doorbell rings promptly at 5:55 PM.

Felix makes it to the front door before Dimitri does, thankfully. He opens it halfway and stares.

His old man is there, holding onto some kind of overly-large box wrapped in green foil. Behind him is - is his -

“I thought you said you were the  _ only  _ one coming.” Felix can’t help staring. His old man  _ might  _ have mentioned starting to see someone, for one reason or another, but the woman behind him is wearing a tight V-neck that leaves very little to the imagination and a cashmere shrug. 

She winks at him.

_ Winks _ .

“Oh! Rodrigue!” Felix only relaxes slightly as Dmitri comes up behind him to open the door further. “And is this Manuela?”

Manuela Casagandra extends her perfectly-manicured hand and obediently, Dimitri takes it. “Rodiepie, you never told me your son’s boyfriend was so - big.” She positively preens as Dimitri half-bows, always too proper for his own good.

Felix twitches. “He’s not - “

“It’s a pleasure to see both of you. Please come inside.” Dimitri lets go of Manuela’s hand to open the door further. “Oh, and this is - ?”

“Housewarming gift. I’m told it’s very popular this year.” Rodrigue hands the box over and Felix snatches it because at least then he can do something with his hands. Housewarming gift? Really?

“Thank you.” Dimitri smiles and closes the door behind them. “Would you like to see the house?”

Felix relaxes slightly as Dimitri expertly diverts their guests to some pointless tour. It’s true that it’s  _ their  _ house, bought so they could both have a place to rest, but they both have small apartments and haven’t traded keys. No matter how he feels about his -  _ Dimitri  _ \- Felix isn’t about to let him see his workspace any time soon. 

The house is new. The house is a strange experiment that Felix still has  _ thoughts  _ about. Most of his personal items are still in his own apartment even though more and more of his clothes keep ending up on the house’s bedroom floor. And the furniture they have is nice, if not minimalist, bought and brought in as sets to at least give the appearance of a home. They have towel sets, for Sothis’s sake.

It can’t last.

Felix knows this.

He still goes to the kitchen to finish putting the final touches on dinner. The lemon-baked salmon and steamed vegetables are simple but smell amazing thanks to Ashe’s guidance. Felix manages to get the table in their small dining room in something resembling a formal layout, complete with chilled wine and four half-full glasses just a few moments before Dimitri leads Rodrigue and Manuela inside.

Dimitri holds the chair out for Manuela, ever the gentleman. Felix and Rodrigue both wait for her before sitting down themselves.

She smiles, holding the drink up. “A toast, gentlemen? Roddie-baby?”

Dimitri’s hand ghosts over Felix’s knee under the table.

Felix steels himself and holds up his glass. He’s an assassin for Sothis’s sake. He can handle one night of interpersonal  _ family  _ time.

Probably.

* * *

This is what happened - 

Felix’s job that night was a relatively simple one. The target was Hunter Green, age 42. The man was yet another influence peddler who “contributed” to many campaigns so politicians would look the other way while he lined his pockets with embezzled money from charity works and church donations.

He also had a terrible habit of indulging in food and alcohol to excess. Things like that tended to make Felix’s life much, much easier.

Hunter, however, also tended to only make public appearances in his luxurious, walled-away mansion.

Felix did not enjoy parties. The more people present, the more potential witnesses around. He’d never been fond of working a room and there was always at least one person who assumed he was important somehow.

Tonight, he at least could leave the fraternizing to Dorothea. Dorothea was another member of Byleth’s team but as far as Felix knew, wasn’t the type to get her hands dirty. He’d never asked her what she actually did in their little organization and Dorothea had never offered any hints.

The more you knew about someone, the more likely it could be used against them. 

“You look grouchy.” Dorothea murmured as she grabbed a glass of champagne from some wandering waiter. “Nobody likes grouches at parties.”

“I’m not here to make friends.” Felix replied, sweeping his gaze along the huge ballroom. Hunter spared no expense in decorating everything in golds and blacks, giving a façade of prominence and opulence. Hunter himself stayed close to the center of the gathering, looking for all the world like a king at the center of his court.

_ If you aim for the king, don’t miss _ . His father had said it when he’d handed Felix his first sabre. He’d been joking; at least Felix thought so at the time. Now, given how little he knew of his father’s work inside Faerghus’s government, he couldn’t be sure.

Hunter moved along, always towards women. Another vice that would prove to be his undoing. Dorothea gripped casually to Felix’s arm as they moved along, closer, closer, both of them expertly navigating the crowd of wealthy, self-important individuals.

Someone moved. Felix pivoted, barely avoiding the swing of their elbow.

“Oh, I - “

Felix froze as the stranger turned, gripping to a glass of water.

It couldn’t be. There was no way on Sothis’s green earth.

“Felix?” Dorothea looked at him, puzzled.

“Felix?” The stranger repeated, blue eyes wide.

The same blue eyes and golden hair that Felix would know anywhere. Even if the face was different. Even if the hair was longer and fluffier. Even if he was - he was  _ big _ .

Felix’s throat went dry. “Dimitri.”

* * *

Manuela’s laugh filters through the open window as Dimitri finds some old movie to keep her entertained. At least they aren’t looking at old photographs - Felix  _ hates  _ looking at pictures from their childhood. 

Outside, their backyard looks picturesque and slightly fake. There’s a small pool that Dimitri occasionally does laps in late at night, two iron lawnchairs that Felix has claimed for a mid-afternoon napping spot. Sylvain brought in a grill that sits unused, still covered in a black tarp. 

“You have a nice place here.” Rodrigue muses as he steps through the door and stands behind Felix. “I like your living room.”

Felix buries his scowl behind his glass of bourbon. “Dimitri picked it out.”

“He picked out your favorite color?” Rodrigue chuckles. “I’m impressed, Felix.”

“You’re getting soft, old man.” 

“Still. You’re more relaxed than I’ve seen you in a long time. This isn’t a bad way to live, really.” Rodrigue looks his way and Felix makes sure to look at a little spot inside the pool. “Might be worth it to settle down.”

“I’m not going to be like you, dating someone that’s - “ Felix twitches again as Manuela begins to sing the first bars of some familiar song. “Why on earth  _ are  _ you dating her?”

“Because I can. Because you and Glenn are both grown up” Rodrigue shrugs. “Honestly, you might  _ like  _ retirement.”

They’ve never really talked about what Felix does for a living. Rodrigue knows about the cover story - of course he does, but he’d spent a life working in intelligence. Felix is fairly certain he knows both his sons’ hands are stained in blood. The only question is why he never says a word about it.

Then again, Felix remembers the night that some stupid, drunken man had tried to demand his father hand over his wallet. Glenn had pulled him away just as Rodrigue’s eyes had darkened and in one smooth motion, he’d cuffed the man and pushed him down to the pavement.

In retrospect, maybe that’s what made Felix realize something about himself. He hadn’t been scared, not really. He’d just been impressed.

Felix doesn’t like killing. He’s not a monster, for Sothis’s sake.

He’s just  _ good  _ at it. And better someone like him do the dirty work than someone else.

“Felix, you may have to decide which is more important. What’s out there, or what’s inside. Don’t give up something good just because you want to be stubborn.”

“You’re just angling for grandchildren.” What does his old man know anyway? Dimitri, he’s - he’s fine. Warm.  _ This  _ is fine. But there’s something about the other that Felix still can’t untangle. Some mystery that he can only see in shadows and half-measures and it’s difficult to put into words.

Rodrigue laughs. “Sorry. I gave up on that a while ago. But - I do want to see you happy.  _ Truly  _ happy.”

Felix flushes. It’s the alcohol, obviously, and the cool night air, and definitely not the off-key way that Dimitri tries to sing inside.  _ That  _ is utterly embarrassing.

“Why are you dating an opera singer anyway?” Felix doesn’t really remember his mother. But by all accounts, she’d been a fluffy sweater and floral skirt type. He’d never seen a photograph of her in a V-neck.

Rodrigue chuckles. “She likes my car.”

* * *

This is what happened next - 

Well, Felix remembered it this way. Memory is an imperfect thing.

But he did remember being frozen in place, the murmur of the party fading into useless noise. He remembered thinking that it had to be some ruse, some conspiracy to get him off balance before his nightly duties.

He distinctly remembered Dimitri’s tie and the way his suit jacket cut just so.

“You’re big.” Felix stated, suddenly, desperately needing a drink.

“Oh, well,” Dimitri’s hand went awkwardly to his temple to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “I suppose you haven’t seen me since - well, I do apologize.”

Beside him, Dorothea’s nails dug into Felix’s forearm. He barely felt it.

“And this is your - ?” Dimitri’s gaze flicked to Dorothea, curious.

“Dorothea Arnault.” Dorothea graciously extended her hand and gave a practiced smile as Dimitri kissed it. “Felix is my bodyguard. A woman can’t go to a party alone, after all.”

“Ah.” Dimitri glanced to Felix who still couldn’t stop staring. His hair was longer, well-groomed, the perfect length to - 

Goddess, why was he  _ big _ ? How was that at all fair?

“I think I should leave you two for a few minutes. Meet you later, Felix?” Dorothea lightly tossed a curl behind her shoulder. “Don’t be late dearie.”

Felix grunted. 

He still needed that drink.

“You’re a bodyguard now?” Dimitri asked, awkward, his expression open and curious.  _ Too _ open. Somehow, Felix’s mind couldn’t quite stop fixating on his eyes.

“I’m an editor, actually. Dorothea’s just dramatic.” Felix kept going on impulse. “You disappeared.”

“Would you believe I was in witness protection?” Dimitri’s smile faded into something guarded. “For many years.”

Felix’s stomach twisted. That explained a lot. It was one thing for Dimitri to disappear, but his father had broken all ties too. Duscur had been enough of a high-profile incident to catch the attention of half the continent and yet the main actors had all disappeared a little too quickly to be a coincidence.

“Sorry.”

“It was not your doing. I would like to catch up, if you have time?”

He had a job to do. Felix was a professional. It was simple and he only had a small window of opportunity.

“Where are you staying?”

Hunter Green met a tragic end when trying to skinny dip late at night in his private pool. Too much alcohol and a bad reaction to appetizer had given him terrible cramps and even worse judgment.

Felix woke up the next morning underneath a pile of blankets and Dimitri’s warm, solid weight pressed against his back.

It was fine. It was a one-off, after all.

* * *

It’s still rare for Felix and Dimitri to both be around at the same time. Felix visits his authors to terrify them into meeting deadlines and does his real job in the dark and Dimitri disappears for days to weeks to focus on his nonprofit activities. Dimitri had shown him all the auditing and forms involved and Felix had immediately lost interest. 

But when they’re both around, things are - nice. Quiet. Felix will spend hours bent over his laptop reading the same paragraphs over and over again until Dimitri brings him some pine tea, or Dimitri will disappear into a world of numbers and accounts until Felix declares it time for a run. They grocery shop (sometimes) which is mundane and a little absurd given how often they cook together (rarely). They visit gyms because Felix has flexibility to consider and Dimitri has more nervous energy than he knows what to do with. They pack up and disappear for hours on a hike and Felix can forget the entire world exists aside from the two of them.

Today they’re trying to puzzle through some sort of vegetable stir fry. It’s an excuse for Felix to use his knives and Dimitri to make use of the kitchen aids they keep accruing from friends and family members.

It would go faster if Dimitri didn’t constantly stop to nuzzle at Felix’s hair. (And, in all fairness, if Felix didn’t stop fixating on the little spot of sauce on Dimitri’s chin.)

“How is your new author, by the way? You didn’t say too much about it last night.” Dimitri asks offhandedly.

“Awful.” Felix lies. “Gratuitous comma abuse. Bad pornography.”

“Ah, if I - “ Dimitri starts what Felix knows is going to be a terrible joke.

His phone buzzes.

Dimitri’s expression changes. His lips turn downwards and he swipes the device off the kitchen table. “Please excuse me.”

Felix’s knife twitches in his hand. It’s  _ that  _ expression. The one Felix  _ loathes _ .

Dimitri is usually, well, Dimitri-esque. Pleasant, a little timid, unfailingly aware of those around him and able to sense the slightest shifts in mood. He carries himself as though he’s trying to avoid taking up room - there’s a slight slouch to his shoulders and he naturally fidgets with whatever he’s holding in his left hand.

And then there’s the other face. The one that Felix only sees in brief flashes. The one where his smile has a little too much teeth, his shoulders are squared, his eyes are empty. Like he’s looking outwards from a very, very long distance away.

Felix doesn’t fear Dimitri but there’s something about that face that puts him on edge.

It’s tied to Duscur, somehow. It’s not something Dimitri talks about and Felix hasn’t found anything that he didn’t know to begin with. There was supposed to be some sort of diplomatic exchange event at Kyphon Hotel on the border. Somehow, terrorists slipped in and proceeded to demand justice for some cover-up from years ago. There was a standoff, a lot of media attention, and then the whole thing went dark.

The terrorists and most of the hostages died. Dimitri and his father disappeared, dragged off to some Witness Protection Program until the remaining members of the terrorist group could be ferreted out. Lambert still lives out of public eye and Dimitri only gives the most vague answers about his health.

Whatever. Dimitri has no business making that face and Felix has no business noticing it. It’s not like they’re a _real_ couple with a real future. One of these days, Felix is going to screw up and miss or hesitate and he’ll die a bloody death in some alleyway. This - this is playing house. Sooner or later someone else will catch Dimitri's attention and maybe share their bed and - 

“Felix?”

Felix’s knife spins to slam into the wooden cutting board.

Dimitri peers over his shoulder and Felix’s hackles rise as he feels Dimitri’s hand start rubbing against Felix’s shoulder. “What?”

Dimitri’s thumb brushes against Felix’s neck. It’s distracting “I did not think the recipe called for minced onions?”

Felix looks down and manages another internal curse at the tiny,  _ tiny  _ cubes of perfectly-cut onions. “It didn’t.” His hand is tingling, just a little, and he’s going to have that disgusting onion-y smell all over his fingers for the rest of the night.

.”Ah.’ Dimitri doesn’t even sound upset. “They look very symmetrical?”

Felix sniffs indignantly. ‘What was the call about?”

Dimitri’s fingers tighten for just a moment. “I have to leave early tomorrow to meet with a donor. I am sorry.”

It’s fine. It’s not like Felix doesn’t leave constantly with half-assed excuses about writers and conferences and broken typewriters.

The bedroom is still painfully cold in the morning.

* * *

This is when things start going wrong with Felix’s life - 

“You should just give me your number.” Dimitri mumbled sleepily against Felix’s hair. Why he was up at all when Felix barged into his hotel room was clearly something that defied any sort of common sense whatsoever.

The whole thing did, really. Felix had only meant to drop by and explain - in painfully explicit detail - why Dimitri’s views on the thematic meaning of  _ The Leicester Champions  _ was terrible and if he didn’t want to watch an opera to begin with what was he doing seeing one with some woman in too many furs - 

And somehow that had led to the current situation.

Which was - not horrible. Not how he’d imagined he’d spend his post-assassination night but Felix was adaptable. And the movie they were watching at least had some decent action sets and Dimitri’s laugh was nice whenever Felix pointed out boom mics in the background of a shot.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is just - “ Felix fumbled. He didn’t  _ have  _ casual affairs. He certainly didn’t end up in hotel rooms with men he hadn’t seen in ten years just because he happened to be at the same performance as a target. 

Especially not three times in a row.

“If you don’t want to - “ Dimitri’s voice dropped off and Felix grabbed onto Dimitri’s arm before it could move away from its nice warm spot against Felix’s hip.

“I don’t mind.” Felix declared on impulse. “But you’re - we aren’t friends. We aren’t kids. You have a life.” Probably. And it was far cleaner than Felix’s current existence.

“I would like to be your friend again, if you let me.” Dimitri moved his hand up, cradling Felix’s jaw. “Although I do not think that friends - “

Felix kissed him before he could say anything more ridiculous. “I’m just giving you my number. That’s all.”

* * *

Felix forgets to set the tea kettle in the morning.

Dimitri always does it, just as Felix always brings in the newspaper and tosses it onto Dimitri’s side of the couch.

But Felix has no warm tea and slimy, day-old leftovers because there’s no point in bothering with breakfast when he’s by himself. He glowers at the sink and thumbs through a stack of notes and thinks about Sylvain’s terrible attempts at decorating or Ingrid’s new fixation on fantasy football teams. He does not think of Dmitri or his father or his father’s -  _ Manuela  _ because he has better things to do with his time.

His phone rings and a picture of a fish appears on the screen.

Felix runs his thumb over the green blob in the corner and taps the speaker circle. “What is it?”

“Good morning.” Byleth responds, as neutral and calm as ever. “You have me on speakerphone?”

“I’m alone.” All alone. With slimy leftovers and burned tea.

“Can you be ready to meet me a Saint Cichol’s Church by 3PM?”

Felix raises an eyebrow. That’s close. Far closer than his usual fare. It’s only a three hour drive even with traffic.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“See you then.”

Jeralt’s Group is, on the surface, a small collection of accountants and auditors that travel around checking outreach activities for the Church of Seiros. For the Church, it’s a way to verify charitable projects and cut down on embezzlements and corruption. For Jeralt’s Group, it’s a thin veneer of legitimacy that several countries recognize and acknowledge without much fuss.

For Byleth Eisner, current leader of the organization, the entire thing is a well-connected front. Felix isn’t certain how long it’s been this way or how much the upper echelon knows about their little activities. They have to, on some level, because many of Felix’s targets at the very least claim to be pious followers of the Seiros faith.

But Felix doesn’t want to know. He knows their targets are awful people who hide behind piety and government connections and whether some archbishop knows his hands are dirty or not doesn’t matter so long as there’s one less bastard in the world. 

Byleth is buried beneath a black trenchcoat with an overly-fluffy white scarf. She doesn’t smile - Felix thinks he’s only seen her smile twice in the years they’ve known one another - but she does bob her head in greeting.

“Good trip?”

“Traffic.” Felix glances around them. This time of day, at the beginning of the week, the church is relatively empty. Saint Cichol’s is a historical building that mostly hosts tours and is still used for large congregations only during the holiday months. It’s not a suspicious place to meet but also wide open with many places for ears to hide.

Byleth knows what she’s doing. Felix reminds himself of that all the time.

“Would you like to see the gardens? I’ve always been curious about the gardens here. They say they keep a rare species of koi.” She turns, expecting Felix to follow.

Obediently, Felix falls in step behind her. He darts his gaze around, relieved that not a single soul follows them or even spares them more than a single glance. 

Outside, there is a small private garden with a little pool full of red fish. Felix checks the perimeter and sees only a few little children running in circles as their mother rummages through a small blue handbag.

It’s peaceful.

“We’ve gotten a tip that a man named Tomas Solon is crawling out from the woodwork to meet someone tomorrow. Supposedly it’s the Tempest King himself.”

The Tempest King is an urban legend in Felix’s line of work. No one knows if it was an individual or many, or if they work for a government or just work to line their own pockets. All Felix knows is that when the Tempest King comes up, so does trouble. The kind of trouble that lands one in jail or worse, never to be seen alive again

“What else do you know?” Felix’s fingers itch. Call it a twisted curiosity, but if the Tempest King did indeed exist - if he was an individual, then Felix wanted to cut his teeth into him and see which one of them would come out on top.

Byleth hums. “Supposedly there’s money involved. Of course, there is usually money involved in such things. But there was a data breach from the Adrestian government not too long ago.  _ Medical  _ data. Do you remember me mentioning the Agarthan Group?”

Another urban legend whispered in the darkest of corners that Felix refuses to believe is actually real. The Agarthan Group supposedly has an ear to the ground in many governments, all to collect  _ information _ . What they do with it is anyone’s guess but Felix doubts it’s good. 

“It’s not your usual forte but - I’m hoping you can at least intercept Tomas before he walks away with his prize. He’s been working within the Church of Seiros as an archivist. We had suspicions yet this is the first time I can prove a connection.” She blinks her huge green eyes at him and like always, Felix wonders what she’s really thinking. “Are you in?”

Felix, against all logic, starts thinking of empty beds and runny refrigerated vegetables. “I’ll do it.”

Contrary to popular belief, in Felix’s experience, most trade-offs don’t actually happen at empty wharfs in the dead of night unless it’s intended to be some sort of double-cross. Quite often it’s the opposite - subways in the middle of rush hour, religious services where everyone’s belongings get shuffled, busy cafes where things can be set beneath used napkins. Crowds are good, so long as one is crafty about it.

Tomas Solan apparently feels confident enough to have his little meeting within the halls of an old museum that once belonged to the Church of Seiros before being sold to the Faerghus government. Like many old buildings, the architecture hasn’t changed much - the same statues perch at the edge of the entrance, the same tall belltower juts out from the center of the building with the same marks of Seiros glittering in the stained glass windows.

His target is easy to find. He’s an older man with a prominent forehead and large bottle glasses. Felix has already considered the best methods to end his life - men Tomas’s age tend to have a terrible time with heart attacks and ladders.

The dropoff, according to Byleth, won’t happen until close to the end of the day. It gives plenty of time for Felix to find a small perch on a balcony on the third floor where he can view Tomas’s small space surrounded by books and more books. He watches people scuttle through, never long enough to do anything questionable. A few employees stop to speak to Tomas before they too disappear.

Tomas drifts to a small lectern and begins jotting down some notes.. Felix glances up from his book as he hears a clatter of a door opening - 

And he stops reading entirely.

Felix’s entire body goes cold.

There’s someone there dressed in black.

He knows that golden hair anywhere.

He knows those hands, the curve of that spine. He knows the way Dimitri’s fingers feel as his - as  _ Dimitri  _ reaches out to briefly shake hands before casually reaching into a pocket to pull out a small, thick book and hands it to the old man.

Felix’s hands clench as Solon gives the not-Dimitri (it can’t be  _ it can’t be _ ) a book in return, a small piece of paper conveniently sticking out from the top. Dimitri doesn’t even bother to look and tucks the item beneath his arm.

It’s not real. It  _ can’t  _ be real. It’s - a twin. Everyone has a twin. Dimitri is off, hours away, doing dull auditing work. All he has to do is to pull out his phone, dial the number, and - and

The not-Dimitri below pulls out his phone as he begins walking away.

“Felix? Is something wrong?”

Felix’s throat is too dry. His tongue refuses to move.

“Felix, do you - “

Felix’s hand tightens around his phone. “Auditing. What are you auditing?”

“Just some old accounts to make sure the money is being spent wisely.” The not-Dimitri disappears from his view. “Apologies. Is it all right for me to call you back? I - “

Outside, the huge bells begin chiming.

“Felix?” Dimitri’s voice deepens, going husky as the sound echoes between their connection. “Where are you?”

Felix hangs up.

Tomas lives.

* * *

This was where things went completely sideways.

“I think we should share an apartment.” Dimitri said offhandedly. He sat in a too-small chair too close to the window, a local newspaper spread out over the small table in front of him. The sun came in at the perfect angle to reflect off his hair and cast everything in a soft glow.

It was distracting. Felix was supposed to be packing up to leave. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Felix glanced around, determined to find where he’d left his hair tie. Dimitri had a terrible habit of breaking the damn things. “We aren’t even usually in the same timezone.”

“True, but it’s not as though my work tethers me to one place. And I feel rather absurd continuing to purchase a hotel room each time we visit one another.”

_ Visit _ . That implied they sat around and - and talked. Which they did, along with sharing unusual meat dishes in even more unusual restaurants and other things that Felix didn’t need to focus on when he was trying to leave for a new job.

“We aren’t dating.”

“My mistake.” Dimitri drawled. “I suppose we haven’t been dating… for eight months. Which is why we went to the musical theater under your direction and I invited you to see the Zoltan exhibit, after which we - ”

Felix had learned kissing him was a very, very good way to get Dimitri to  _ stop talking _ .

But that also meant he was sitting on the blonde’s lap, their fingers tangled together and Dimitri’s blue eyes were - they were too much. Too bright.

“It’s a terrible idea. You know that, don’t you?”

Dimitri kissed his knuckles. “I’ve considered many terrible ideas in my life.”

Would it be that bad? To have a home base? A cover story for all the little inconsistencies in Felix’s life and all his brother’s taunting about how he was stuck in neutral, never going anywhere?

“Okay.” Felix breathed. “A house though. I’m tired of elevators.”

Dimitri smiled. “That sounds nice.”

It didn’t have to be permanent. Or  _ involved _ . It just - it would make things easier. For both of them.

“Nothing big.” Felix murmured. “If we’re not going to be there that often.”

“I think I’d like a backyard at least.” Dimitri mused. “With a pool.”

“Maybe.” He liked watching Dimitri swim. “With a dishwasher. I don’t do dishes.”

“That’s fine. I find it soothing.”

Felix snorted. “Nobody finds washing dishes  _ soothing _ .”

Dimitri chuckled. “I’d talk further but don’t you have a plane to catch?”

He did. He was supposed to already be in a taxi.

Dimitri made him irrational.

“I’ll reschedule.”

* * *

Dimitri doesn’t come home. It’s just as well - Felix can’t stop himself from going through every corner, every inch of their space looking for  _ something _ . Something that shouldn’t be there. But it’s the same house as always, filled with the furniture they bought or the peace lily in a tacky pot Sylvain and Ingrid gave them as a housewarming gift and the ugly souvenir from Glenn that they both keep locked away in a closet.

He thumbs through their own phone records. He checks their dresser for weapons and finds nothing.

He doesn’t settle - he  _ can’t  _ settle - painfully aware of each little  _ tick  _ of the clock they spent an evening moving around until Felix determined it to be in just the right place.

Two days later, he sees a familiar black mini cooper pull up to their driveway. Felix forces himself to breathe and count backwards, settle his nerves just as he always does.

Dimitri pulls out a black luggage bag out from the trunk and slings it over his shoulder. Felix has seen that bag too many times to count but now he can’t help wondering if there are secret compartments; if Dimitri carries weapons the same way Felix tucks his knives into little corners beneath his socks.

“Hello.” Dimitri says, all smiles at the door. He leans forward to nuzzle at Felix’s temple and Felix tenses.

Dimitri notices. He pulls back, tilting his head just so. “Did I miss something?”

It’s not him. It  _ wasn’t  _ him. “How was the trip?” Felix closes the door and turns. Maybe he should have told Byleth, but she hasn’t said a word to Felix after the botched mission.

“Incredibly tiring.” Dimitri sets his luggage down and begins to pull off his coat. A coat Felix remembers all too well from two days ago. “I was hoping to get farther than I did but I’ve run up against a brick wall.”

“A brick wall in auditing. Something suspicious?” Felix walks - slowly - towards the kitchen. He always feels better with one of his knives nearby. He feels safer.

It’s  _ Dimitri _ , for Sothis’s sake.

The Tempest King isn’t real. This is a farce. He’s fine. They’re  _ fine _ .

He still pulls out a red pepper and begins to slice into it. 

“I’m not sure yet.” Dimitri settles on his usual stool at their kitchen island. “I thought you’d want to have takeout tonight. Should I start - “

“No.” Felix grips tighter to his knife. It’s Dimitri. It’s  _ Dimitri _ . He’s not - he’s Dimitri.

That never lets Felix see the inside of his apartment. Like Felix never gave Dimitri a key to his own.

That disappeared for days, weeks, the same way Felix did.

“Felix?”

Felix hugs his knife close. He breathes. In. Out. In. Out.

“Who are you, really?” He turns, trying to keep his body language loose. Light. He knows how to - his whole  _ career  _ is about looking as harmless as possible.

Dimitri’s smile flickers, just for a moment. He shows teeth, and it’s the first time Felix realizes the loathsome face is directed at him. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

He could pretend he doesn’t know anything. He could back down, joke, let things go back to the way they were. Felix doesn’t  _ need  _ to do any of this.

“What did he give you? Money?” Dimitri doesn’t need money, or at least never mentioned it as such. The Blaiddyds are old money, always have been, and most of it is still tied up in trusts and nest eggs that Dimitri rarely dips into. “What were you after?”

Dimitri’s expression remains utterly calm. A mask, Felix realizes, and for the first time he knows he has no idea what’s behind it all.

He hates it. He hates not knowing. He hates the thought that Dimitri slept beside him, all this time - all - 

“Felix, you’re shaking.” Dimitri says, too even and too measured.

“You’re lying to me.” And then, on impulse, on a stupid, sudden desire - “ _ Tempest King _ .”

And then Dimitri  _ moves _ .

Felix is fast. He’s always been fast. He dodges a swing and ducks, just as Dimitri crashes into the counter where he was. And then they’re swinging, tangling, only for Felix to duck and run into the living room. Common sense tells him to just leave the house, go to the car, go  _ somewhere _ , tell Byleth, but his pride won’t allow him.

They wrestle in the living room - a mess of limbs and fists as Dimitri tries to pull the knife away. Felix knees at his stomach and slithers out, then tries to flip over one of their side-tables. Dimitri breaks it like nothing but it slows him down, just enough for Felix to run towards the dining room. Glass is shattered, chairs overturned in a mess that means nothing. Felix tosses a dishtowel at Dimitri’s head, then a butter knife, then lobs the pepper shaker for good measure. Dimitri hisses at it hits his eye and he glowers, flipping over the whole table and blocking the exit to the kitchen.

Felix slashes and Dimitri grabs his wrist. Felix turns, stepping back to aim his knife and Dimitri pushes him up against the hallway wall.

Felix is pinned in place, Dimitri’s long fingers tight around his windpipe. His other hand is wrapped around Felix’s knife, the blade mere inches from where Dimitri’s heart is, right at the juncture between ribs.

It’s suddenly very, very still.

Felix looks at Dimitri, at his reddened eye, at the slight bit of blood running down his lip from where Felix landed a lucky punch. He looks at his stupid golden hair that’s all sorts of disheveled, at his frame, he knows Dimitri is watching him, waiting -

Felix always thought he’d go out in some miserable alleyway. That he’d get in over his head and it would be over - probably messy, probably earned. No one would really mourn him. He’d just be another corpse that people would forget about. 

But not like this. He - he  _ can’t _ . He can’t do it. 

And then Dimitri leans forward, slowly, and his lips meet Felix’s. Felix sucks in a choking breath, suddenly aware of how loud his own heartbeat is. The tight grip on his throat is gone and instead he feels a thumb running along his cheek - why? Why does it feel wet?

“It’s all right.” Dimitri murmurs between kisses, and that’s ridiculous. “Don’t cry, Felix.” Why would he be crying? He’s not - those aren’t  _ tears _ . He’s not upset. He’s not scared. He’s  _ not _ .

The knife clatters uselessly to the ground as Felix lets go and winds his arm around Dimitri’s neck. It makes no sense.  _ Dimitri  _ makes no sense. He makes Felix feel - too much, all the time, he makes him lose perspective and fixate on stupid things like bath towels and which laundry detergent to buy and remembers to leave Felix’s mug in the same spot every day and Felix can feel it, he’s falling, and the only thing that’s holding him together is this one person, this stupidly  _ confusing, alive  _ person who keeps pushing Felix towards something unknown.

Dimitri lifts him up, lets Felix’s legs wind around his slender hips. He’s strong - too strong and Felix lets himself be held, meets him over and over again for kisses because if he doesn’t, Felix is certain he’ll shatter.

Dimitri carries them both to the bedroom and Felix, despite all evidence, despite  _ Felix _ , clings to the one person that makes him feel real.

* * *

This was when things spiraled out of Felix’s control - 

“It’s empty.” Felix surveyed the blank space, the wooden floor, and the soft blue painted walls. It wasn’t a large house at all, but there were only two of them to consider.

“It won’t be empty forever. Sylvain did offer to - “

“We are not getting furniture from Sylvain. It’s probably infested with something.” That was another strange twist. With Dimitri back, with Felix more settled, old friendships had simply clicked back into place. Not the same as when they were young, but - they existed. Sylvain dragged Felix out for game nights. Ingrid had Felix as an emergency contact for her dog Lancelot.

“Ah. Then I suppose we’ll have to decide ourselves?” Dimitri rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “It’s exciting, don’t you think? Starting from complete scratch?”

“It’s not the worst thing I can imagine.” Felix wasn’t short on money. They’d need tables and a sofa. Spare blankets. Pots and pans and kitchen accessories and possibly a new cutting board. He tried recalling all the little things that had been in his old man’s house, all the little things that one needed to look proper and presentable when having guests over. 

“It will click into place. I am sure of it.” Dimitri nuzzled at his throat and Felix huffed. 

“Let’s get started then.”

* * *

“You broke the table.” Felix grumbles.

“I didn’t think you were particularly fond of that table.” Dimitri replies, soft and warm and somehow still conscious. Felix is fully aware of how much stamina he has but really - really. There are  _ limits _ . No one person should be able to go for - 

“I hated that table.” It was ugly but it was also cheap and it wasn’t as though they had too many guests over. “That entire kitchen set was a terrible idea.”

“I have to say I wasn’t entirely fond of the little - those porcelain cat things. Their eyes are disconcerting.”

“That was a gift from  _ Annette _ .” Felix flops his arm over his eyes. “Sorry. About breaking that vase.”

“I think I’ll survive.” Dimitri kisses his throat. “It was my grandmother’s. The one that used to make me wear pigtails.”.

“I still can’t believe you allowed her to do that. You try too hard to please people.”

It occurs to Felix, in some way that  _ should  _ be horrible and life-altering, that his life is more complicated than he’d wanted to admit. That Felix is lying next to his - he’s stretched out on a messy bed with someone he’s had feelings for his entire life and yet is a stranger with a history that Felix hasn’t untangled. That for all his talk of indifference and focus and his  _ career _ , it’s utterly pointless if he’s going to come back to an empty, rootless  _ nothing _ .

That he wants - he wants this. Whatever it is.

“I was stupid.” Felix admits, not looking at Dimitri. He isn’t sure he can right now because he feels as though he’s already been ripped out, torn open, split raw for Dimitri to see with perfect clarity. But it’s a clean feeling because Dimitri is still here, still touching Felix as though he is something precious.

“I overreacted.” Dimitri’s lips tilt downward. “It is - I have not been entirely honest. I’m not a good person, Felix. I have not been for many years.”

Felix sits up, or tries to. The adrenaline is still there, still keeping him upright, but he knows they’re both due to crash and feel like shit in the morning. “I kill people. Bad people.”

“When I first met you - “

“Yeah.” Felix shrugs. “Drug dealers, embezzlers, people that the law won’t touch because it’s  _ inconvenient _ . I don’t like it, I just don’t hate it.”

Dimitri sits up too. Felix has to look down, at the way their fingers tangle together. Dimitri truly does have nice hands.

“I can’t tell you too much about who I work with. It’s a government agency, but that is as much as I can provide. For the past several years, I’ve been trying to get closer and closer to the Agarthan Group. I’ve been trying to find the truth of the Duscur Incident.”

“Have you?” It’s - almost noble, Felix thinks, and if that doesn’t speak to how utterly  _ doomed  _ he is, nothing will. 

“I’m close.  _ We’re  _ close.” Dimitri squeezes his hands. “After that - I think I want to take a step back. For many years, I was - I was more intent on vengeance and punishment than seeking justice. I felt as though I was drowning and the more I fought back, the deeper I sank.”

“And now?” Dimitri isn’t a bad person. He’s  _ not _ . He’s kind and thoughtful and holds doors for the elderly and he carries heavy groceries and he takes Felix’s dour moods in stride. His puns are terrible and his cooking needs work but Felix accepts that. He’s just also a spy that can break tables and porcelain-cat things and have his own secrets.

That is far more forgivable than the puns.

“I choose to believe that justice is something that can be attained.” Dimitri tilts his head, thoughtful. “You saw me, didn’t you? With Solon?”

There’s no point in lying anymore. Felix doesn’t want to. “I was there to kill him. And you were there to - what, be a honeypot?” Dimitri chuckles and somehow, Felix’s stomach twists. “Wait, you aren’t - “

“Oh no. I am terribly monogamous.” Dimitri leans close to kiss Felix again. “I won’t say the subject has not led to some difficulties in my line of work. I’m more of a Trojan horse.”

“Clearly.” Felix lets Dimitri pull him close and he rests his head on Dimitri’s shoulder. It feels safe. Like home. “I’m sorry. For lying to you I’m not sorry for - for what I do.”

“I apologize for not being honest myself. I cannot be the judge of your actions when I - ” Dimitri guides them both down and Felix considers if it’s worth it to even bother trying for a shower. “I thought - I’ve always felt like I’m more  _ me  _ with you. That I am not simply a lie of my own making. I do not like killing but I cannot say I am above reproach.”

“I like our furniture. Our house. I don’t want to give it up.” Felix smiles, just a little. It’s fine.

It really does feel that way.

* * *

This is when Felix knew.

Neither of them were sound sleepers. Dmitri was prone to nightmares and Felix was always on guard for strange noises and intrusions. He worked under complete anonymity but there was always a possibility that he was sloppy and someone else was clever enough to seek revenge.

But some mornings, somehow, Dimitri would be sound asleep. Felix would stare as the sun started to crest, tracing the lines of sunrise against Dimitri’s slender frame. He’d curl tighter beneath their blankets and think about nothing; no world outside, no job, nothing that could intrude on the reality of  _ here _ .

Felix didn’t believe in fantasizing. He hated the very idea of it.

But this - 

“Good morning, Felix.” Dimitri would yawn and rub at his eyelid in a most undignified way imaginable. 

This made Felix warm.

* * *

“You replaced your entire dining room with mats.” Ingrid prowls around, checking each and every corner for something dangerous. It’s absurd - they’re watching her dog for a week, not her two-year-old child.

“Felix and I have decided to start taking kickboxing lessons. Since we rarely use the room, it seemed appropriate to make an adjustment for the time being.” Dimitri responds blithely.

Sylvain doesn’t look the least bit convinced. “Felix has been fighting since he was fifteen.”

“A new skill is a new skill.” Felix crosses his arms and leans against Dimitri. He’s been doing that more lately - not that Dimitri seems to mind. “It’s good exercise.” It turns out that once Dimitri stops holding back, he’s  _ good _ . Exactly the kind of good that keeps Felix’s blood pumping.

“Yes, well, just make sure and be careful with Lancey-puff, all right? Ingrid, well, she can get a little  _ overprotective  _ of that - “ Sylvain straightens as Ingrid stalks back into the room, “that adorable little ball of fluff.”

“And you two aren’t going to go anywhere? You’re here? The entire week?” Somehow, Ingrid makes it sound accusatory. 

“We’re on vacation.” Felix barely avoids rolling his eyes. Byleth called for details on his botched hit but she hadn’t sounded that upset over it.  _ Better a job not happen at all than go wrong _ , she’d mused before she’d started using fish metaphors. After whatever she’s after – Felix may give it up. Maybe. He’s always wanted to spend more time sharpening his fencing skills. Maybe he can actually catch up on his reading list and still have time to terrify his authors into meeting their deadlines.

“And you read through my notes?” 

“Oh yes.” Dimitri holds Ingrid’s dog close to his chest. Lancelot squirms, somehow more interested in slobbering on Felix’s face. “Please enjoy your trip. You said you were going - “

“Out of town. Conference.” Sylvain winks. “Might even be a little trip to the casino in - “

“Absolutely  _ not _ .” Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I am not letting you venture in there.”

“I thought you said you two were going to the beach? “ Felix raises an eyebrow. “For a fishing trip?”

“Well, anyway. I’m sure you two have this in hand. You’ve kept the plant alive and all. Be a good little monster!” Sylvain grabs onto Ingrid’s shoulder before she can have another few minutes of ‘cuddle time.’ “We’ll call!”

The room is utterly silent save for the loud, snuffly dog whuffs coming from one Lancelot.

“You don’t think - “ Dimitri ventures.

“No. No way.” It’s impossible. Ingrid is far too straight-laced to lie and Sylvain is far too irresponsible to do anything underhanded.

The dog barks loudly.

“Well, surely if we can handle our  _ usual  _ business, a dog will be no problem.” Dimitri begins scritching Lancelot’s ears. “Especially not one as adorable as this.”

(Two days later they call Ashe in a panic because a thirty pound dog  _ shouldn’t  _ be capable of destroying an entire sofa or digging up an entire backyard.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorrry! I had a second arc considered for this but I ran into the brick wall of real life. Hope you enjoy this though! May you have a happy and awesome day full of goodness and kittens!


End file.
